Within the wilderness her seat?
Some island which the wild waves beat,
Is that the sufferer's last retreat?
Or some aspiring rock that shrouds
Its perilous front in mists and clouds ?
High climbing rock deep sunless dale-
Sea - desert—what do these avail?
Oh take her anguish and her fears
Into a calm recess of years!
'Tis done; despoil and desolation
O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown ;
The walks and pools neglect hath sown
With weeds, the bowers are overthrown,
Or have given way to slow mutation,
While, in their ancient habitation
The Norton name hath been unknown :
The lordly mansion of its pride
Is stripp'd; the ravage hath spread wide
Through park and field, a perishing
That mocks the gladness of the spring!
And, with this silent gloom agreeing,
There is a joyless human being,
Of aspect such as if the waste
Were under her dominion placed :
Upon a primrose bank, her throne
Of quietness, she sits alone;
There seated, may this maid be seen,
Among the ruins of a wood,
Erewhile a covert bright and green,
And where full many a brave tree stood,
That used to spread its boughs, and ring
With the sweet bird's carolling.
Behold her, like a virgin queen,
Neglecting in imperial state
These outward images of fate,
And carrying inward a serene
And perfect sway, through many a thought
Of chance and change that hath been brought
To the subjection of a holy,
Though stern and rigorous, melancholy !
The like authority, with grace
Of awfulness, is in her face,
There hath she fix'd it; yet it seems
To o'ershadow by no native right
That face, which cannot lose the gleams —
Lose utterly the tender gleams
Of gentleness, and meek delight,
And loving-kindness ever bright.
Such is her sovereign mien; her dress
(A vest, with woollen cincture tied,
A hood of mountain wool undyed)
Is homely fashion'd to express
A wandering pilgrim's humbleness.
And she hath wander'd, long and far,
Beneath the light of sun and star;
Hath roam'd in trouble and in grief,
Driven forward like a wither'd leaf,
Yea like a ship at random blown
To distant places and unknown.
But now she dares to seek a haven
Among her native wilds of Craven ;
Hath seen again her father's roof,
And put her fortitude to proof.
The mighty sorrow has been borne,
And she is thoroughly forlorn :
Her soul doth in itself stand fast,
Sustain'd by memory of the past
And strength of reason; held above
The infirmities of mortal love;
Undaunted, lofty, calm, and stable,
And awfully impenetrable.
And so- - beneath a moulder'd tree,
A self-surviving leafless oak,
By unregarded age from stroke
Of ravage saved sate Emily.
There did she rest, with head reclined,
Herself most like a stately flower,
(Such have I seen) whom chance of birth
Hath separated from its kind,
To live and die in a shady bower,
Single on the gladsome earth.
When, with a noise like distant thunder,
A troop of deer came sweeping by,
And, suddenly, behold a wonder!
For, of that band of rushing deer,
A single one in mid career
Hath stopp'd, and fix'd its large full eye
Upon the Lady Emily.
A doe most beautiful, clear white,
A radiant creature, silver bright!
Thus check'd, a little while it stay'd;
A little thoughtful pause it made!
And then advanced with stealth-like pace,
Drew softly near her and more near,
Stopp'd once again: but as no trace
Was found of anything to fear,
Even to her feet the creature came,
And laid its head upon her knee,
And look'd into the lady's face,
A look of pure benignity,
And fond unclouded memory.
'It is,' thought Emily,' the same,
The very doe of other years!'
The pleading look the lady view'd,
And by her gushing thoughts subdued
She melted into tears
A flood of tears, that flow'd apace
Upon the happy creature's face.
O moment ever blest! O pair
Beloved of Heaven, Heaven's choicest care!
This was for you a precious greeting,
For both a bounteous, fruitful meeting.
Join'd are they, and the sylvan doe
Can she depart can she forego
The lady, once her playful peer,
And now her sainted mistress dear?
And will not Emily receive
This lovely chronicler of things
Long past, delights and sorrowings?
Lone sufferer! will not she believe
The promise in that speaking face,
And take this gift of Heaven with grace?
That day, the first of a reunion
Which was to teem with high communion,
That day of balmy April weather,
They tarried in the wood together;
And when, ere fall of evening dew
She from this sylvan haunt withdrew,
The white doe track'd with faithful pace
The lady to her dwelling-place;
That nook where, on paternal ground,
A habitation she had found,
The master of whose humble board
Once own'd her father for his lord ;
A hut, by tufted trees defended,
Where Rylstone Brook with Wharf is blended.
When Emily by morning light
Went forth, the doe was there in sight.
She shrunk with one frail shock of pain,
Received and follow'd by a prayer,
Did she behold saw once again;
Shun will she not, she feels, will bear;
But wheresoever she look'd round
All now was trouble-haunted ground.
So doth the sufferer deem it good
Even once again this neighbourhood
To leave. Unwoo'd, yet unforbidden,
The white doe follow'd up the vale,
Up to another cottage-hidden
In the deep fork of Amerdale :
And there may Emily restore
Herself, in spots unseen before.
Why tell of mossy rock, or tree,
By lurking Dernbrook's pathless side,
Haunts of a strengthening amity
That calm'd her, cheer'd, and fortified?
For she hath ventured now to read
Of time, and place, and thought, and deed,
Endless history that lies
In her silent follower's eyes!
Who with a power like human reason,
Discerns the favourable season,
Skill'd to approach or to retire,
From looks conceiving her desire,
From look, deportment, voice, or mien
That vary to the heart within.
If she too passionately writhed
Her arms, or over deeply breathed,
Walk'd quick or slowly, every mood
In its degree was understood;
Then well may their accord be true,
And kindly intercourse ensue.
Oh! surely 'twas a gentle rousing
When she by sudden glimpse espied
The white doe on the mountain browsing,
Or in the meadow wander'd wide?
How pleased, when down the straggler sank
Beside her, on some sunny bank!
How soothed, when in thick bower inclosed,
They like a nested pair reposed!
Fair vision! when it cross'd the maid
Within some rocky cavern laid,
The dark cave's portal gliding by,
White as the whitest cloud on high,
Floating through the azure sky.
What now is left for pain or fear?
That presence, dearer and more dear,
Did now a very gladness yield
At morning to the dewy field,
While they side by side were straying,
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